


The greatest of them all

by rimz08



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, bad ass d'Artagnan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 13:44:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2231232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rimz08/pseuds/rimz08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to a prompt for badass d'Artagnan saving the day fics. A series of oneshots. Some will be modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As d'Artagnan picks his way down to the small, gently burbling brook, shaded by leafy green trees, he is completely oblivious to the quiet beauty of the scene. All he can think about is that once again, he is the one sent to collect sticks for the fire and to refill their flasks of water from the stream. Muttering to himself angrily, he decides to takes his time about the task on purpose. If they insist on making fun of him as the "youngest" and repeatedly beginning sentences with "if you want to be a good Musketeer when you grow up…", then he will make them wait as punishment. He kicks off his boots, rolls up his trouser legs and wades into the water, enjoying the cool feel of it on his skin. Maybe being the general dogsbody has some advantages, on second thoughts, he reflects.

Back at the small camp they have made in a clearing, Aramis has a good fire going from the sticks d'Artagnan collected earlier and is roasting a few rabbits caught by Porthos. Athos is asleep under a tree, hat pulled down over his eyes, while Porthos sits next to his friend, musket in his lap, just in case it should be needed.

Admittedly their guard is down a little more than usual. They have been on a mission of great state importance – returning some articles of clothing to the king's cousin in the south of France, undergarments that were somehow misplaced during her last trip to Paris were later discovered freshly laundered in the wrong room. Aramis swears that he had nothing to do with the removal of the items from the lady's person outside her own quarters, but Athos suspects that he is lying from the twinkle in his eyes. At any rate the lady in question is extremely attractive and the musketeer did not seem adverse to seeing her again to return the pieces of clothing. Normally they would have refused such a mission, but Aramis' enthusiasm combined with a general boredom of Paris during the hazy, hot and sleepy summer made them accept the task. And it hasn't been all that bad, riding through cool forests, swimming in streams, and generally enjoying themselves. On their way back to Paris, the most important thing they have to guard is the thank you gift given to them by the king's cousin, which doesn't amount to much split four ways. Although Porthos has a sneaking suspicion that Aramis might have received something extra, and a little more personal.

It's for this reason that none of them is particularly worried about an ambush or attack. They haven't seen many other people on their journey; even highwaymen and bandits seem to be staying home to avoid the hot roads. So when it comes, it is a total surprise.

Porthos is the first to react, firing his musket at one bandit and bringing him down. Athos rouses quickly, grabbing his sword and hurling himself into a fight with two men. Aramis, however, has laid down his arms out of reach, and in scrabbling to get to them finds a sword at his throat. The others, seeing this, stop immediately.

It appears that whoever is holding that sword is the leader of the bandits, because he takes control. "One more move and he dies!" Athos swallows and nods, as does Porthos, and before they know it blows to the head have sent both of them to the floor and into total darkness.

 

D'Artagnan, refreshed from his paddling, climbs back up the embankment towards the others, carrying four water flasks. He is humming quietly to himself as he goes, thinking about retorts to use on the others. However, as he approaches the clearing where he had left them, a flash of metal catches his eye. Instantly stepping back against a tree, he keeps watch and indeed, after a few moments, sees it again.

Inching closer, moving from the cover of tree to tree, he sees a strange man pacing, sword in hand. He looks like a bandit or robber from his dress. After a few moments another comes to join him and the two confer for a few moments.

Putting down the flasks, d'Artagnan skirts around the clearing in a large circle, careful to tread without making too much noise. He counts four men on guard, although he doesn't know how many more are in the clearing itself. He can't see that far. He can only presume that his friends are in trouble and now relying on him to save them.

 

When Athos comes back to consciousness, he finds himself tied up to a still unconscious Porthos, back to back. Aramis is a few steps away, tied up as well, but being questioned by the leader of the gang.

Aramis looks completely wretched and miserable, trying to explain to the man that yes, this really is all they have to offer. The highwayman doesn't seem very happy with this answer, punching Aramis in the face. He thinks the musketeer is holding out on him. Musketeers don't travel through forests with nothing of importance, he believes. They have money, or secrets, which can make him money. If only he knew this was about a lady's under garments, thinks Athos.

However Athos doesn't take too long to feel sorry for Aramis, realizing that d'Artagnan isn't with them. The continued goading of the boy and using him as their servant means he is out there in the forest alone, and may walk straight back into this trap and get himself killed. Athos begins to try and work at the binds on his hands, desperate to get himself out of this situation.

 

D'Artagnan has taken out the four guards posted around the clearing relatively easily and noiselessly. He is now able to get closer and sees another six men, as well as his friends, Aramis getting punched in the face, Athos and Porthos tied up on the floor. His first instinct is to rush in, musket at the ready, waving his sword, and take on all six men. But he remembers Athos' constant entreaties to cool his temper.

Thinking levelly, he looks around for inspiration. And suddenly a thought comes to him.

 

Just as he is about to punch Aramis again, the leader is bothered by one of his men. "Did you hear that boss?" he asks.

"No, I didn’t hear anything."

They all wait quietly for a few minutes.

"There, I heard it again."

"Fine," the leader tells him, "go check. It's probably a deer or rabbit or some such."

 

D'Artagnan is ready and waiting when the man follows the noise he has made by throwing small stones in the direction of the clearing. As the man is looking around for the source of the noise, he comes up behind him and knocks him over the head. One down.

 

One of the men is rifling through the saddle bags. Athos wonders how long it will take these men to realize there are four horses and three of them.

"Desjeux's not come back yet!" one man shouts out.

"Probably gone to take a piss," says another.

"Go look for him. He's always getting himself lost!" instructs the boss.

 

This one is more alert, and slightly more difficult to take out. A fight ensues, although d'Artagnan doesn't want to use weapons, worried about the noise of clashing metal. Instead he uses moves Porthos has taught him, and when the man goes to cry out, clamps a hand over his mouth to silence him. They roll through the undergrowth, each trying to get the upper hand. D'Artagnan finds himself in a stranglehold, arms around his neck from behind, but using his strength and tipping himself forward, manages to pull the other man over his head and hurtle him to the ground. While the bandit lies gasping in pain, he knocks him out.

 

"Oy boss!" calls out one of the men.

"What now?"

"It's just, well…. there's four horses."

"Yes, good, and…?" the leader is getting frustrated.

"Well there's three of them boss!"

The leader turns back to Aramis. "Where's the fourth man?"

"There is no fourth man," Aramis says, feeling that it isn't really a lie. D'Artagnan isn't much more than a boy, after all.

The man is losing patience fast. Aramis gets a punch in the stomach for his trouble.

"We’re delivering that one to a noble. Present from the king." He hopes that might be more believable.

"No way, it's all saddled up and someone's been riding it."

"Well yes, we take turns, to give ours a rest!" drawls Athos from behind them. Until now, he has remained silent, but he sees that Aramis is flagging slightly.

"You presume to ride on a horse gifted to someone by the king?" the robber asks, amused.

"No one'll ever know. We'll let it rest before we get there. We’re not amateurs you know," Athos replies, working harder on his binds.

 

Four left. D'Artagnan wonders if he can go in now, but figures he needs to take down at least one more before he makes his entrance.

After a few minutes of contemplation, d'Artagnan decides to put his childhood hobby of tree climbing, which had gotten him scolded often enough, to good use in order to get a better look at the situation. He scales one of the old trees that surround the clearing, moving agilely from branch to branch, until he is high enough to get a bird's eye view of the scene below. He doesn't like what he sees happening to his friends, and since their hands are bound they won't be much help to him in a fight.

He wonders if there is a way to attract their attention, to let them know he's up there, but figures it best not to take the risk. Instead, he thinks that he could shoot one of the bandits from his vantage point.  Although doing so would immediately give away his position and he wouldn't have time to refill his pistol before getting shot himself.

After a few minutes he comes to a decision. He eases himself down the tree trunk and fills his pockets with largeish stones. He then climbs up again and very carefully crawls out onto one of the trees longer branches, heavily covered in foliage, until he is almost directly above one of the men. Holding onto the branch with one arm, he withdraws a stone and throws it at the man's head. It finds its mark and the man collapses into a heap. D'Artagnan flattens himself to the branch, hoping not to be spotted.

 

Athos doesn't see the stone fall on the man's head, just that he suddenly crumples into a heap. Understanding that d'Artagnan has a plan, but not where he is or what he is up to, the need to get his hands free becomes more urgent.

He watches as one of the men crosses to see what has happened to his companion at the commander's order. As the man bends over, he sees something fall on his head, knocking him out too. However, everyone else has also seen this, and the other bandits take out their guns and shoot blindly into the branches of the tree above.

Athos is panicking at the thought of d'Artagnan, getting shot, falling from a high branch and breaking his neck and turns his head over his shoulder to try and get a look at the ropes binding him when starts to feel it come free. A sharp intake of breath from Porthos' face causes him to look back at the tree and what he sees amazes him. D'Artagnan swings from branch to branch until he is low enough to jump down, landing squarely on the bandit commander, who was in the midst of refilling his pistol in order to shoot upwards. They roll over a few times, struggling, before d'Artagnan is on top and able to jump up and withdraw his sword.

Meanwhile, Aramis has run at the last man, head straight into his stomach. Athos, finally free of the bonds, rushes to his aid, and although unarmed, between the two of them, they are able to take him down. Then Porthos, who has gotten out of his bonds, joins them and knocks him out with one punch to the face.

Breathing heavily, Athos calls out to d'Artagnan, engaged in a sword fight, "Need any help over there?"

"No, thanks, you sit and relax, just make me do the hard work, as per usual," the younger man calls back with a chuckle, before disarming his opponent and driving him up against a tree, sword to his throat.

 

It's only when all the bandits have been tied up and gagged that they sit down around the embers of the fire and burnt rabbit to tend to each other's wounds, exhausted but exhilarated.

"I just can't leave you alone for five minutes?" asks d'Artagnan, laughing, as Aramis patches up his arm where a bullet grazed it.

"You can't leave us alone? We taught you everything you know!" Porthos retorts.

"Nah! I knew how to climb trees and throw rocks long before I met you! Got my behind smacked for both enough times. Never knew they were such useful skills."

"Where are the water flasks? I need some clean water to wash this wound," asks Aramis.

"Oh, I may have dropped them on the way to saving you…." D'Artagnan admits, "Sorry….".

"Never mind," says Athos, rising slowly, "I think what you did was a little more important.  I'll take water duty this time."

 

 


	2. Motorbikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU. I needed him on a motorbike.  
> Thanks for the suggestions. I'm working on them.

They are standing on a rundown street somewhere in East London, among council houses and walls covered in graffiti, a shuttered news agent on one corner and an off license on the other, trying to arrest a suspect. Only it hasn't gone according to plan. They weren't expecting the man to be well armed and according to intelligence he should have been at home alone, so four on one should have been no problem.

Unfortunately, he wasn't alone and he, as well as all his three friends, have a variety of weapons at their service. Forced away from the house onto the street in a fierce gun battle, civilians screaming and diving for cover, d'Artagnan sees Aramis fall down, a bullet hitting his leg. He ducks out from his temporary hiding spot behind a white Ford Escort to pull the other man into safety.

"Shit!" d'Artagnan exclaims, taking a look at the wound. Aramis is white as a sheet and breathing heavily through the pain.

"Where are the others?" Aramis bites out.

"I don't know. Let me put something on this and then I'll look for them. Here, press down on this," he has pulled off his jumper and balled it up to press down onto the wound in the hope of stopping the bleeding, pulling his jacket back on over just his t-shirt.

"I'm going to try and see what's going on, okay?" he asks, and Aramis nods weakly.

Putting his head around the car, he gasps in horror at the sight that greets him. Somehow, one of the men has got hold of Athos and has a gun to his head. Porthos, ten paces away, has his own weapon trained on the man, but there's no way he can get a shot without killing his friend.

"Put your weapon down or your friend gets it!"

Porthos and Athos lock eyes, and with a tiny nod from his friend, Porthos does as he is told, slowly lowering his gun to the ground and kicking it away.

D'Artagnan can hear the faint sound of sirens. The others hear it two, and the man holding Athos hostage looks worried.

"Good. Now, we're going to get into our car and drive away. Ok? Good. That's it, move it," he pushes Athos forwards towards a red car, gun at the base of his neck now. Porthos stands frozen.

D'Artagnan scans the street looking desperately for a way to stop them. They'll certainly kill Athos once they get far enough away, and by the time they can start tracking his phone it will only lead them to a corpse. No. He needs to stop them, or at the very least follow them. That's when it hits him.

As they arrived, he'd seen a pizza delivery boy going into a house three doors down. He looks around the car and sees that the motorbike is still there. Under the cover of the cars he makes his way to the delivery boy.

"I need to borrow your bike!" he tells him, impatiently, "give me the key."

"What---" the kid looks at him in shock.

"Now! I'll make sure you get it back!" d'Artagnan shouts. Athos is in the car already, in a minute it will have left. He's running out of time.

"Are you like MI5? That's so cool! Here!" The kid snaps out of his amazement and gives him the key. D'Artagnan throws his leg over the bike and starts the engine just as the car is pulling out.

"Hey!" the boy calls out. D'Artagnan turns to him and has a helmet thrust into his hands. "Be careful!"

And he drives off, shouting at Porthos to take care of Aramis as he passes him, assured by the approaching sirens that they'll be fine.

Following the car from a safe distance he weaves in and out of traffic until they reach a main road and pick up speed. Amidst his worry and fear, he remembers how much he loves riding a motor bike. He thinks about the bike he had when he was in sixth form, riding around the quiet country roads with his girlfriend Katy hugging him from behind. But the good memories are pushed away when he has to duck to avoid bullets aimed at him. He hasn't been careful enough and they know that he's on their trail. He swerves and nearly skids off the road, but manages to regain control at the last minute.

D'Artagnan decreases his speed to put distance between him and the car, always keeping it in his line of sight. Of course the driver doesn't indicate, but he has enough warning that he is able to follow when it pulls off into a slip road. By now the houses are thinning out and he knows that soon they'll be in the Essex countryside. There are also fewer cars on the road.

He isn't familiar with the roads, but he looks out keenly for any opportunities. He will have one chance to stop the car and take on four men, so he needs to make it count. He knows that what he is going to do is dangerous, to both himself and Athos, but he can't think of any other way.

Finally he gets the break he needs. He sees a sign indicating twisting turns in the road approaching. He puts his foot down on the accelerator, making the bike go as fast as he can. As he gets closer to the car, he is noticed again and the passengers in the back seat start firing at him. That's good, he reassures himself, he needs them to run out of ammunition. So he keeps swerving and skidding, pleased that he wasted so many hours on his bike in his teenage years, despite all the reprimands from his father.

When he sees the first bend approaching he speeds up even more, first pulling level with the car. A bullet hits the bike, and he curses his promise to get it back to the kid. He hopes Treville will pay for the repairs. If not, this is going to be coming out of his pocket and Constance is not going to be impressed. In fact, she's going to be really angry. She hates motorbikes with a passion, having seen so many people hurt riding them. He pushes the thoughts out of his mind as he crouches low over the front of the bike, another bullet glances off the helmet. Thank heavens the kid made him take it.

He's past the car now, a few strides ahead, when a bullet punctures the tyre. Luckily they are coming up to another bend. He's losing control fast, but uses every ounce of his energy to hold on tight, turning the bike suddenly to head straight in front of the car. As the driver sees him, and the bend approaching, he panics, and tries to swerve. Losing control, the car crashes through the grey barrier and rolls down a ditch, coming to a sudden halt. Meanwhile, the bike careers onto the side of the road and d'Artagnan battles to keep it upright. He slows it down but can't get it under control and it falls to the side, dragging him with it until they make contact with the barrier about 25 metres further down the road.

D'Artagnan checks himself for broken bones and, deciding there are none, extracts himself from under the bike painfully. His trademark brown leather jacket has protected his arm but his jeans are ripped and he can see a bloody gash along his left leg, where it was dragged under the bike. He gets to his feet and begins to limp painfully towards the ditch. He takes out his phone to call for backup, but it was in his left pocket and is completely smashed from the impact. Other cars are slowing to see what is happening and he hopes someone will call the police.

As he approaches the car he takes his gun out. The back passenger door is open, so at least one of the men has made a run for it.  He drops down into the ditch in a crouch. The car is smoking a little, and silent. He approaches the front passenger door first, where he knows Athos is. The driver is out cold on the steering wheel and Athos's head is slumped forward on the dashboard. No airbags then. In the back, one man had not been wearing a seat belt and is clearly the worse for wear, but two have got away. He checks his friend for a pulse, sighing in relief when he finds one, and tries to rouse him, seeing the blood on his forehead.

He gets up and looks around, trying to see where they have gone. Not back to the road, where he came from, so into the field on the other side of the ditch. There are no trees or hiding places nearby, so it shouldn't be hard to find them.

He climbs up the ditch, pain searing through his leg, and the sight that greets him on the other side causes him to laugh hysterically. Two of the criminals are standing surrounded by a herd of cows, waving their pistols at the animals threateningly. The cows, however, keep coming closer, causing the two men to back into each other. D'Artagnan stands back and watches in delight.

"What's so funny?" he hears a weak voice behind him.

He turns to see Athos, struggling out of the car, legs wobbly.

"Athos! You're ok. Thank goodness!" he says. Those men are going nowhere, he can leave them for the police to deal with. What's important is to get to his friend.

He goes back down into the ditch and reaches Athos just as he stumbles over. He catches him, collapsing under the other man's weight when his leg gives out. He probes Athos' head wound and then runs his fingers over the rest of his scalp, looking for injuries, while all the time Athos tries to swat him away.

"Doesn't seem too bad," he declares finally.

"I could have told you that. I'm fine."

"You were kidnapped at gunpoint and in a car crash. That's not fine," D'Artagnan states.

"You caused said car crash. You could have got us both killed!" remarks Athos darkly. Then he breaks into a smile. "That was some pretty amazing riding. Didn't know you had it in you."

"Oh, there are lots of things you don't know about me," he replies with a grin.

He can hear sirens approaching now and relief is settling in, the pain in his leg getting stronger.

"Just don't tell Constance what I did. She'll kill me!"

 

 

It's hours later when they limp into visit Aramis, finding him surrounded already by bunches of flowers sent by his many admirers, along with balloons and, of course, enough grapes for an army. Porthos is munching his way through some as Aramis dozes in the bed. He looks up at them and nods a greeting, his mouth too full to speak.

D'Artagnan eases himself into another chair, putting his crutches to the side, while Athos goes to look for a third.

"s'okay," Porthos says eventually. "He's gonna be fine. Was a bit worried about you two though."

Before either can reply, Treville joins them. He doesn't speak, just looks at the four of them.

D'Artagnan breaks the silence. "Sorry, sir."

"Sorry? What are you sorry for?"

"Well…it was a bit of a cock up…wasn't it sir?" He looks at the others, who are studiously studying their shoes. Ready for a bollocking for the very public gun battle and car crash they have caused so far today. "Cock up? Oh yes, I should say so. But not only did you get our man, but another three we were after and had no intel on. It's fantastic. And I've heard you handle a motorbike rather expertly! "Well done d'Artagnan!" he says, slapping him on the back.

They all let out a sigh of relief. But not for long.

"What's this I hear about motorbikes?" calls Constance from the doorway, contemplating d'Artagnan's bandaged leg and crutches. She stands there, hands on hips, looking ready to explode.

"Yeah, I may have let something slip about you riding off to the rescue on a motorbike," says Porthos, looking abashed. "Sorry."

"Oh man," breathes d'Artagnan, "I'm in for it now…. I already have twenty stitches in my leg. Isn't that punishment enough?"

"Oh, don't worry. That's nothing on what I'll be doing to you buster!" she declares, turning on her heel and causing the others to fall into fits of laughter.

"Constance! Come back! Wait!" he rises and hobbles after her, "It was an emergency…."

"Someone won't be getting any for a while!" remarks Aramis from the bed, smirking. "I, on the other hand, seem very popular with the ladies…"

 

 


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for shadownightarrow who wanted to see them looking after kids for the day, kind of....

They find the children in a cellar. It's dark, damp and covered in mould and the children are clustered in little groups in the corners, taking comfort and warmth from each other. When the four of them break down the cellar door, letting light stream into the black space, the children cower back, pressing themselves into the walls.

Wordlessly, they descend the steps, looking to each other for support, their eyes expressing only one thing: what kind of person could do this?

 

It all started three days earlier, when Constance came running to the garrison, tears streaming down her cheeks. Athos' first instinct was to send her packing, but seeing the state she was in he gave in to her requests to see Treville, bringing his three friends along to the audience.

"My niece," she stutters, "she was kidnapped."

D'Artagnan can't see her in such pain. He instinctively reaches out a hand and places it comfortingly on her shoulder. She smiles ever-so-slightly through her tears.

"It's my oldest brother's child. They live on a farm, about an hour's ride from Paris," she continues. "And this isn't the first…"

"What do you mean?" asks Treville, rising behind his desk.

Constance twists the handkerchief she is holding, wrapping and unwrapping it rhythmically around her fingers.

"My brother told me. There's been a spate of child kidnappings in villages and farms around the city. All the countryside is talking about it. People are scared to let their children out of their sight!"

"How did we not know of this?" Porthos demands angrily.

"The country Watches know, and have found nothing. My brother said that the Red Guards have investigated also."

"Bunch of idiots," exclaims Aramis. "They couldn't find a priest in a monastery. Sir, your permission to investigate?"

Treville just rolls his eyes, knowing that if he said no, they'd do it anyway, with more danger involved.

 

They haven't slept much in two days, touring villages and farms, asking questions, looking for clues. They are getting desperate when d'Artagnan comes up with the plan.

"It's too dangerous. We don't know what they are doing to the children," Athos says, shaking his head.

"He won't even be in there for long. We'll get him out within minutes!" d'Artagnan protests.

"I think Henri would be offended at you insinuating he can't take care of himself," Porthos adds.

"Didn't we learn our lesson with Vadim? Undercover missions are dangerous. I'm not sending a child into heaven only knows what!" Athos counters.

"Not even to save the lives of more than twenty others?" d'Artagnan demands.

Aramis has remained silent throughout the heated argument. Athos turns to him, appealing for help, but the other man just shakes his head. Athos understands that he has lost.

And so it is that little Henri from the Court of Miracles is left in plain sight of any would-be-kidnappers, playing happily in a farmyard not far from the land owned by Constance's brother. He seems quite happy with the situation, in particular since it is his first time outside Paris and he knows that his compensation will be worth the trouble.

Concealed at various vantage points, d'Artagnan up in a tree, Porthos in a barn, Athos in the stables and Aramis (no one is quite sure how it happened) inside the house with the farmer's wife, the musketeers keep watch vigilantly and are able to see the kidnapping unfold smoothly in front of them.

It is clear that they are dealing with experienced men, but they are also over confident. It is not overly taxing to follow them back to Paris, to their hiding place, defeat them in a fight and take them into custody. What is taxing however, is finding the children locked in the basement.

 

"Bring some torches. Quickly!" shouts Aramis, and Porthos and Athos turn back up the stairs to bring light. Meanwhile, Aramis and d'Artagnan descend the steps. The children continue to shrink away from them, despite their reassuring words.

"It's okay. We're here to take you home. You have nothing to be afraid of anymore," Aramis tries to calm them.

This does nothing to stop the some of the girls from sobbing and the boys from glaring at them suspiciously.

D'Artagnan decides to act on instinct. Drawing closer to one of the bigger boys, he kneels down on the floor in front of him, hands open, palms up to throw he poses no threat.

"You heard of the King's Musketeers?" he asks. The boy nods his head slowly. "That's us. We're Musketeers. And we're here to help."

The boy looks doubtful. Another one, sitting close to him, speaks in a squeaky voice. "Don't believe you! You don't look like Musketeers!"

"How would you know? It's dark down here!" chuckles d'Artagnan. At that moment, Athos and Porthos appear with the torches.

"Over here," d'Artagnan beckons them over. "Look!" he points to the pauldron on his arm. "See this? That's the sign of a Musketeer."

The boy rises to get a closer look. Soon another one follows suit, and another. Before long they are elbowing each other out of the way to get a closer look with cries of "I wanna see!" and "Out of the way!"

"Hey!" says Aramis loudly. "We all have them. Come look!" And before they know it all four of them are surrounded by children, investigating their uniforms and admiring their swords.

After that, it isn't hard to get the children to follow them out of the cellar and into the sunlight of the street. As they are making their way out, d'Artagnan notices a little girl, sucking her thumb, tears staining her cheeks, curly hair just like that of Constance.

"Hey," he crouches down in front of her, "do you have an auntie Constance?" The girl nods warily in response. "Would you like me to take you to her? She's a good friend of mine." Another tiny nod. "Come on then. How about you go on my back huh?" and he turns around, letting her climb on before ascending the stairs.

 

 

Treville is shaking his head in disbelief. The men who took the children, now in the Bastille, had been waiting until enough had been collected before transporting them out of the city to be sold off to the highest bidder. Scared out of their wits, the criminals have even given the names of some of their clients, among them nobles and some senior figures in the Church.

However as horrified as Treville is, he can't quite concentrate with the terrible racket coming from the garrison yard. Not knowing what to do with the children, the Musketeers brought them all back to the garrison until their parents can be located, apart from Constance's niece, who d'Artagnan has personally taken to her aunt. The children, now feeling safe, are no longer silent and still, but running around the yard, some wearing hats they have taken from Musketeers. Porthos has two battling for a ride on his back and Aramis is being chased around by a gaggle of kids trying to grab him and get his hat.

Treville looks from the window to Athos. The latter looks just as lost as he feels. Messengers have been sent out to all the surrounding areas and word will soon spread that the children have been found, but Treville believes that his head may well explode before the parents come to claim their lost darlings.

Treville sits at his desk heavily. "Aren't you going to go and help them?" he asks Athos.

"If it's all the same to you sir, maybe I could wait up here a little longer?" the other man looks at him, almost pleadingly. Treville gestures to the chair on the other side of the desk.

"But before you sit down, go and get us something to drink, would you. I have a feeling we're going to need it."

 

D'Artagnan enters the garrison to find it in total disarray. Porthos is lying on the floor with children climbing on him, Aramis has collapsed in a heap on a bench looking exhausted as two children fight over his hat and he can't see either the captain or Athos. The noise of screaming children is deafening.

 Realizing that something needs to be done, he puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. All the children stop what they are doing to look at him. He takes the opportunity of quiet to jump up onto the wooden table, giving himself a better vantage point.

"All right!" he calls, grabbing three apples from the bowl at his feet. "Sit down everyone." And he begins to juggle. The children all obey, watching raptly as he juggles the apples. "Aramis, if you would, please," he addresses his friend, who throws another apple towards him, so that he is now juggling four. The children make noises of appreciation.

After a few minutes he lets the apples drop.

"Now, who wants to see a sword fight? Porthos, would you like to join me?" he asks.

Porthos rises up from the floor and joins d'Artagnan on his makeshift stage and the two engage in a mock battle, drawing oohs and aahs from the children as they move backwards and forwards, dancing around each other, leaping off and onto the table.

The comparative quiet has drawn Treville and Athos onto the balcony outside the former's office, each with a bottle in his hand.

"If I didn't know it already, I'd say I'm amazed by the extent of d'Artagnan's talents. But nothing ceases to amaze me about that boy," comments Treville.

"Just don't tell him that. He'll get too big for his boots," Athos mutters, taking a swig of wine.

 

 

When all the children have gone home, the five men sit in the cool night air around the wooden table, the remnants of food and drink in front of them.

"I think we should take him to bed!" Aramis suggests, nodding in the direction of d'Artagnan, who has fallen asleep with his head on the table in front of him. "It's hard work entertaining children all day."

"You don't say," comments Porthos drily, stretching out. "I ache all over."

"You can all take the day off tomorrow as a reward for your good work," Treville announces, to the delight of the others.

"Athos shouldn't get the day off," Aramis protests, "he hid in your office!"

"He was keeping me sane. That's hard work too!" counters Treville, and they all dissolve into companionable laughter.

 


	4. In which Aramis gets into trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As requested, d'Artagnan saves Aramis. Sorry for the delay!

"Well that was a complete waste of time," complains Aramis for the twentieth time as they make their way slowly back to Paris, the city finally in sight on the edge of the horizon.

"I am looking forward to a good long drink by a nice warm fire and a game of cards," comments Porthos.

"Count me in for the drink," mutters Athos.

D'Artagnan just shakes his head at their banter and urges his horse onwards. They are all tired, cold, wet and dirty from days of riding to call a nobleman to the court in Paris, only to find that the man in question was already on his way. At least when they completed a mission like this they usually got some food, drink and to sit down by the fire. This time, finding the house shuttered and closed, they had been forced to turn on their heels and make their way back to Paris without even that.

"Ahh, the beauty of Paris. I can see it from here. How I do love this city!" Aramis exclaims.

"I think you mean the smog of Paris," quips d'Artagnan. "Look at all that smoke! The countryside is much more beautiful."

"Ahh, our country boy has a farmer's heart. You can take the man out of Gascony but you can't take Gascony out of the man," Aramis reaches over to ruffle d'Artagnan's hair. The younger man dodges away, trying to escape his friend's touch.

Despite the cold and damp and the apparent waste of time, d'Artagnan feels content to be with his brothers and enjoy these last moments of calm, away from the rest of the garrison and the hustle of court life. They all seem to be relishing the last few miles of their journey, joking and playing around. They also feel safe, so nearly home, in spitting distance of their city, which is probably why they are not paying enough attention to their surroundings.

Because in that moment of rough and tumble, of laughter and smiling, an ambush appears from nowhere, or so it seems. Masked men on horseback descend upon them, bearing muskets and wielding swords. They are outnumbered, at least three to one.

If prepared, the four of them would have faced no problem in taking on the men. However, unready as they are, firearms not primed, swords hanging at their sides, they lose precious moments and find themselves at a severe disadvantage. Even so, they manage to hold their own for some time, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan bringing down a number of their attackers in sword fights in a defensive formation, while Aramis primes his musket to shoot from further away.

Yet it soon becomes clear that they are fighting a losing battle, as more men appear, reinforcing the enemy. D'Artagnan turns around wildly as Athos is pushed from his horse and lands with a sickening crack on the ground. On his other side, Porthos has dismounted and is engaged in hand to hand combat, his leg dripping blood. The youngest musketeer rushes to his friend's aid, running the other man through with his sword. It is only then that he notices four men descending on Aramis, pulling him from his horse, knocking him out and dragging him away.

And as suddenly as they appeared, the attackers mount their horses and ride off into the distance, taking Aramis with them. Shocked by this turn of events, d'Artagnan swings himself up onto his horse and takes off after the receding backs of their attackers, dodging a musket ball sent in his direction by the last of them. He knows that there is no way the man can reload whilst riding his horse, so pushes forwards, driving his horse as hard as he can. As he draws level with the last man he pushes off and dives towards him, pulling him off his horse and falling to the ground, where they roll over, struggling and fighting. For a few moments d'Artagnan is on top, before the other man tips him over and lands punches to his face. But d'Artagnan recovers, rolling the man over again and finally knocking him unconscious.

As soon as he is sure the other man is out cold, d'Artagnan whistles for his horse and she obediently turns around and canters back to him, followed by the bandit's steed, which seems unsure of where to go without her rider. He slings the unconscious man up onto his horse and then, leading the two animals, hurries back to where he left his friends.

"Porthos! Athos!" he cries, looking for them frantically.

"Over here!" he hears Porthos calling to him from under a tree at the side of the road, where he has dragged Athos to shelter from the rain that has started to fall.

"Aramis?" asks Porthos, looking at d'Artagnan expectantly.

"They took him. Don't worry, I'll find him. Let me just check you over first," d'Artagnan tries to reassure him.

"No! Go! The tracks will be wiped out by the rain and we'll never find him!" Porthos exclaims, "We can't lose him!"

"And you think he'd forgive me if I let you bleed out by the roadside?" In all this exchange, Athos still hasn't come round and the other two look at him with concern. "Let me look at your leg and Athos' head and then I'll go after them."

Porthos swallows and nods in ascent.

D'Artagnan brings a flask of water, another with wine and other supplies from the saddle bags and sets to work cleaning the wound on Athos' head and trying to wake him.

"It's not good if he won't wake up," comments Porthos through gritted teeth.

"He'll be fine. He's got a hard head if ever I saw one," d'Artagnan does his best to reassure his friend, folding a cloak under Athos' head as a pillow. "Now show me that leg."

Porthos sucks in air as d'Artagnan liberally pours alcohol over the long and ugly gash on his friend's leg. "It needs stitching but we can't do that here. I'll wrap it up as tight as I can," he says, setting about bandaging it.

As he's working he hears a groan from beside Porthos.

"Athos?" he says, moving over to his friend, "can you hear me?"

"Ugh," mutters the other man, struggling to open his eyes.

"Take it easy, you got a pretty bad crack to the head."

Athos manages to get his eyes open and looks at d'Artagnan then Porthos. "'Mis?"

D'artagnan bites his lip. "They took him. Can you ride? Do you think you can make it back to Paris while I go and get him?"

Athos grabs his arm, staring at him, eyes wide. He begins to shake his head but quickly stops when this is too painful. "No."

"I have to. We can't abandon him. Ride to Paris and send help. I'll worry about the rest."

But Athos won't let go. "Won't kill him," he grinds out. Then, after a few seconds of silence, he adds "Cardinal". The others can see that every word is costing him immense effort but he struggles on nonetheless. "Queen, convent," he murmurs

Athos closes his eyes and moans as Porthos and d'Artagnan exchange confused looks. Then, all of a sudden, d'Artagnan's eyes light up. "No? Really?" he asks in wonder. Porthos groans in despair. "The cardinal suspects?" he asks Athos, in response to which the other man merely grunts.

"Then all the more reason I need to get him out of there quickly. Just think what is at stake!" D'Artagnan springs to his feet and crosses over to where he left the horses. The man he knocked out is still unconscious, slung over the back of his steed.

Porthos has pulled himself to his feet and limped over to join his young colleague. "He's gonna have a hell of a crick in his neck," he comments.

"That's the least of his troubles. Hand me that flask of water," d'Artagnan responds, pulling the man off the horse and throwing him to the muddy ground. He pulls off the scarf covering the man's face, takes the proffered flask and pours it unceremoniously over his head, causing him to wake up, thrashing and spluttering. Before he is fully aware d'Artagnan has grabbed hold of his collar and is holding a knife to the man's throat.

"Where did they take him?" he hisses.

"I'll tell you nothing. Kill me," the man replies.

"Nah, I'm not gonna kill you," d'Artagnan responds slowly, making sure each word is fully enunciated. "But how do you feel about living the rest of your life as a eunuch? Porthos, could you help me with his trousers?" he asks, politely, moving the knife slowly downwards to the man's nether regions.

All of a sudden, it seems that the man is happy to tell them whatever they want to know. Before long, d'Artagnan has ordered the man to strip, undressed himself and donned his enemy's outfit. He helps Porthos and Athos onto a horse and again Athos holds onto his arm, unwilling to let their youngest member go off on a suicide expedition on his own. But d'Artagnan shakes him off and urges the horse carrying them on its way, before setting off in the direction his captive had indicated, leaving the man, in his underwear, tied to a tree.

 

 

Aramis comes back to consciousness in a well appointed room, tied to an arm chair. A fire is roaring in the grate. He looks around, dazed, taking in his surroundings. And then he is hit by the memory of what happened and his fear for his friends. He can only hope that they have survived and are safe.

He chafes at the ropes on his wrists, trying to free himself, but is unsuccessful, so he slumps back, head throbbing madly. He closes his eyes and realizes that there is nothing he can do but wait.

Finally, after what seems like an age, the door creaks open.

"I trust you have been treated well," says a voice he recognizes only too well.

"Oh wonderful hospitality. Just a shame I'm tied to a chair and can't enjoy it," Aramis quips, opening his eyes and looking up into the face of Cardinal Richelieu.

"Well, let me offer you some refreshment. Wine?"

"Thanks all the same but I'd rather keep a clear head," remarks the Musketeer.

Richelieu nods. This isn't going to be easy.

"I'd like to introduce you to my friend. This is Monsieur de Bois," the Cardinal gestures to a large man behind him. "He will be helping us today. But don't worry, he's deaf and mute. He won't share our secrets, or hear your screams."

Aramis is beginning to regret not accepting the wine, as he watches Richelieu pour himself a glass and take a seat opposite him.

"Now, let us do this like gentlemen. Tell me about your relationship with her majesty the queen."

"I protect her and the king," Aramis replies flatly. "That's what musketeers do."

"Yes, yes," the Cardinal waves his hand to hurry him along, "and besides that."

"I have no idea what you mean," the musketeer states.

"Let's see if this will jog your memory," Richelieu beckons to de Bois, who advances on Aramis, punching him squarely in the face.

"I think the only thing that will do," says Aramis, spitting out blood onto the carpet, "is give me memory loss. But do feel free to proceed."

The Cardinal sighs. He really does hate musketeers.

 

 

D'Artagnan leaves his face covered with the scarf and pulls down the man's hat after tying up his horse at a distance from the house. He doesn't put it in the stables with the others, but hides his mount, and the second one he brought along with him, in a grove of trees, easily retrievable but not visible from the mansion. He then walks the rest of the way on foot.

He encounters no one on his way and skirts all the way around the building, surveying it from every side, before entering from the servants' door. There he finds a group of men sitting around a table in the kitchen drinking wine and talking loudly. The table is set with bread, cheese and chicken. They fall silent as he enters. One or two of them he recognizes as Red Guards.

"What took you so long?" one of them grunts.

"My horse had some trouble," he lowers his voice purposefully.

"Hey, go wash up and join us. No need to cover your face any more!"

He takes the opportunity to slip away, with the pretense of washing up before joining them. He doesn't have long to get Aramis out. There is no way he can take on ten men at once.

He slips up the stairs silently, coming out through a secret servant's door into the great hall. There he pauses to listen for noise and is rewarded with the sound of grunts, distant but certainly audible. He follows them, walking on his toes to avoid making a noise on the wooden floors, and as he reaches a closed door to his left hears a voice that makes him shudder, followed by a muffled from his friend.

He doesn't stop to think, but bursts into the room, sword out, to find a large man looming over Aramis, burning hot poker in his hand. Aramis' shirt is ripped and he has clearly already been burned on his chest. The man is getting ready to do it again but never gets the chance, as d'Artagnan runs him through with his sword. The man doesn't even turn, not having heard his attacker enter, but collapses forwards towards his prey, and d'Artagnan only just manages to seize the poker and push the heavy lump of a man to the side before he would land on Aramis, screaming in pain as his hand makes contact with the red hot end.

His hand burning he feels something sharp pressing into his back. He stiffens automatically.

"My, my, so enthusiastic," muses the Cardinal. "I am somewhat put out now. I'll never find another like de Bois. But at least I have another musketeer to torture now."

D'Artagnan's sword is still buried in the body of the dead man, lying on the floor, and his right hand is out of action, but he smiles at Aramis and winks. The Cardinal may be armed with a dagger, but he is old and out of practice. No match for the young musketeer. In a flash he drops to the floor, the dagger barely scraping his jacket, turning and rising up again in a matter of seconds, before knocking the knife from Richelieu's hand. He pushes the Cardinal backwards, into his empty seat, picking up the dagger with his left hand as he moves.

"I apologize Cardinal, but we really must be going. I hope you will forgive our rude departure." He has the point of the dagger at Richelieu's throat. With his other hand, grimacing in pain, he reaches over and pulls his sword from the corpse, using it to make quick work of Aramis' bonds.

"Can you walk?" he asks his friend.

"I think running may be preferable!" Aramis exclaims. They both hear footsteps outside the door, guards drawn by the commotion.

Aramis crosses swiftly to the door and locks it, as d'Artagnan snatches up the ropes and ties the Cardinal to the chair. There is no other way out of the room and the two men lock eyes. D'Artagnan inclines his head towards the window. Aramis nods in ascent.

"It's been a pleasure Cardinal, but we really must be off. See you in Paris," Aramis quips as he follows d'Artagnan out of the window. They hear the Cardinal screaming and men banging at the door as they sprint across the lawn towards where d'Artagnan left the horses, ducking to avoid the pistol fire aimed at them from the windows of the mansion.

Once on the horses, Aramis smiles at his friend. "Thank you. Although you cut that a bit fine!"

"So sorry to keep you waiting. Come on. We have a long way to go and a lot to talk about!" d'Artagnan calls over his shoulder, urging his horse onwards.

 

 

"I can't believe you let him go through with this," Athos is grumbling. He has a terrible headache, which is not helped by the fact that d'Artagnan ran off on a suicidal one man rescue mission.

"What did you want me to do? Tie him up? " Porthos repsonds. "I can't believe you didn't tell me what Aramis did!"

"It wasn't my place to tell you!"

"And it wasn't my place to stop him! He's a big boy!"

The two stare at each other from their respective beds. Having been treated and ordered to rest, their nerves are frayed by waiting for news of their friends from the rescue mission dispatched by Treville. The angry is silence is broken when the door opens and a disheveled looking Aramis and d'Artagnan enter, followed by Treville. They are wet, dirty and exhausted, but very clearly alive.

"Look what the rescue mission found not half an hour's ride from Paris!" says Treville. D'Artagnan flops down on the end of Athos' bed and Aramis does the same on Porthos' pallet. "I will go and call a doctor to look at you two. I'm not sure we can fit two more beds in here though. Can the inseparables cope with dividing up into two rooms?" Treville has a twinkle back in his eye, knowing his men are back safely. Although he is concerned by this latest development in the rivalry between himself and the cardinal, that can wait for tomorrow.

"You," says Athos, pointing a finger accusingly at d'Artagnan, "are a fool!"

"Thank you would suffice. But it's fine. You're welcome," the youngest musketeer replies with a smile.

"You could have been killed!" Athos cries.

"But I wasn't. And neither was he," d'Artagnan inclines his head at Aramis.

"Being too cocky will get you hurt!"

"I won't apologize for caring about my brother and doing what I know any one of you would have done for me!" D'Artagnan exclaims, getting up and pacing the room angrily.

Athos grabs at his hand and the other man flinches in pain. "Hot poker. Don't ask", he murmurs.

Athos lifts an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. I was worried."

"Stop treating me like a child. I am quite capable," d'Artagnan pleads. "If anything, Aramis needs watching over more than me!"

Porthos just shakes his head. Aramis looks down at his hands. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, very quietly. "This is all my fault. What are we going to tell the captain?"

Athos leans back against the pillows. "My head hurts too much to think about that right now. I'm just glad you are both safe. Hopefully we'll come up with something by the morning."

Any thoughts of how to explain the mess are interrupted by the arrival of the doctor and both Aramis and d'Artagnan are ushered away.

As they are leaving, Porthos turns to Athos. "He did okay you know," the large man says.

"Yes, he did. We have trained him quite well." Athos agrees with a smile.

And d'Artagnan can't help but grin.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome suggestions....


End file.
